


Your boldness stands alone among the wreck

by TotemundTabu



Series: Commissions [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (He doesn't appear but like... Jaime thinks about him and his HOBBIES so fair warning), Ableism, Aerys Is His Own Warning, Childhood Memories, Children, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 18:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18597061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: Tyrion & Jaime - Kingsguard young Jaime visiting his little brother Tyrion at Casterly Rock - “You’re a lion, but you yawn like a cat.”, Jaime teases, amused. Tyrion shrugs his small shoulders again, “I’m not much of a lion, really.”





	Your boldness stands alone among the wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tywinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tywinning/gifts).



> New commission <3 !! Thank you again for the trust in me and the help for my dear friend!
> 
> As said in the notes, there are undertones of trauma and ableism, the things are not fully analyzed, I kind of wanted these poor kids to have one (1) joyful day in their life, but I want to warn it's not all "flowers and confetti".
> 
> Hopefully, you'll like it, I'll cross my fingers <3

His hands don’t seem that small, when they stretch to grab things.

He is unsure how he would know, though.

He’s barely seen other children.

He grabs the felted wood puppets and passes them through his chubby baby fingers, they feel soft and nice still – he takes good care of them, he never ruins anything on purpose, and, if something loses a piece, be it an eye or arm, he hides it safely, where the maids and servants can’t take it away.

_They can’t wait to throw away anything that is not perfect._

_They probably want to throw me away too…_

He runs his fingers on the sewn hems, on the fluffy heads – some have golden strands, some auburn yarn curls, some are a black so dark he fears he’ll dirty himself by touching them. None of them has two colours like him.

Same for the eyes. He’s split in two; _maybe I got mixed badly inside mom, as batter in a bowl when the cook bakes, and then I’m all different… maybe if I got more time, another mix, another push, maybe I’d be like Jaime too. One colour and tall._

_And not alone all the time._

“Lordling! - a maidservant pants almost, as she rests her hand on his door, smiling – Your brother, lordling Jaime, he has returned for a visit!”

Tyrion’s eyes widen and his smile gets huge and bright.

“Jaime! Jaime is here?”

“Aye, aye. - she laughs with him – Let’s dress up so we can welcome him, hm?”, she brushes his clothes as if the floor hadn’t been pristinely clean and moves to his ottoman to grab a vest and a better tunic than the one to use for play.

“Do you think he will stay until my nameday?”, he asks, his voice thrilling and ringing like a bell.

She turns to him a bit worried, her brows tilting up, “Oh, dear, I’m not sure… but it could be.”

It could be means _no_ , that Tyrion knows well.

“Your uncle Gerion and uncle Tygett will be there, though.”, she smiles, tentative.

“I don’t want them, Jeyne. - he crosses his little arms – They laughed at me.”

“Oh, lordling, no, they were telling you the truth. - she takes off his tunic and puts on him a better one, a deep shade of red, like strawberries in Summer… he misses Summer, now he can remember the colour just from the big jars filled with mush half as tasty as the fruits – You cried all last night about it, that was sufficient.”

“It is too unfair.”

“Truth is neither fair or unfair, it is what it is.”

Tyrion still pouts, his lips are big and feel too swollen almost for him to suck.

She brushes his hair, trying to hide the black ones under the golden ones and pinches his cheeks, to make them redder. “You’ll look more in health.”, she explains, but Tyrion wonders how he could look in health at all. _Does she think I don’t know that I’m done all wrong?_

“Can I show Jaime the books I’ve been reading?”

“Sure you can. - she fixes him up and stares at him, checking again – But you know your brother is not quite the reader.”

“He has long legs. - Tyrion muses – He doesn’t like to sit down.”

“Is that the fib he told you? - she shakes her head – Oh, lordling, you need to stop believing everything your brother tells you.”

_How am I supposed to? He’s the only one who tells me nice things._

_The uncles are kind to me, and yet they never call me smart nor good… only Jaime._

“Jaime tells no fibs.”, he insists.

Jeyne smiles and shrugs, “Have it as you wish, then. - she raises – Let’s go to greet him then.”

Tyrion raises his face all proud and starts walking down the halls, with Jeyne on his heels making sure he won’t trip.

Lord Gerion had taken on teaching Tyrion how to do some tumbling, recently, and Tyrion had proven himself pretty good at it – they’d laugh with him, and it was, well, refreshing seeing him have the little fun he could; but Jeyne and some of the older servants had started to grow anxious he’d dare too much and fall down the stairs. “He has too little neck. - the cook told her once – And he dislikes milk, he’ll crack it if he hits it.”

When the white horse enters through the gates of the courtyard, Tyrion seems to madden with joy.

“Jaime! Jaime! - he yells, and runs towards him – Jaime!”

The older lordling laughs, bringing the horse as close as he can, because he likes how his brother stares at him, enchanted and amazed, full of admiration, when he’s high on a horse and shining in armour. Tyrion claps his small hands and jumps eagerly, laughing.

Jaime jumps down from the horse and grins, lowering himself on one knee and opening his arms, “Come! Take me down!”

And Tyrion does, throwing himself in his brother’s arms and holding him tight – Jaime falls back on his ass, forgetting that children have no concept of using any less than all their strength and, for how small, Tyrion is all but weak. He blushes a bit in shame, as he notices the servants saw him overthrown, but his father is not there to scold them.

He raises up and lifts Tyrion up from under his arm pit, then twirls around, making him pivot.

To his surprise, no laugh comes this time, just a sad face.

He frowns, lowering Tyrion down.

“What now? - he jokes – I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Tyrion shakes his head, weakly, “No, you did not.”

“Then? - he cocks a brow – You always enjoyed flying. - he tickles his belly – Aren’t you my dragon boy?”

At that, Tyrion’s eyes fill with round fat tears and Jaime bites his tongue and looks around, wondering if he did something wrong.

Tyrion sniffles, keeps back the crying, and says, his voice trembling, as he tries to imitate an adult voice – an adult pitch, Tygett’s, or their father’s maybe – and with that little voice pretending to be big and strong, he says, hoarse, “The dragons are all dead.”

Jaime’s lips part and he stutters.

“Who told you that?”

“What does it matter? - he shrugs – I checked the books, it is true.”

Jaime frowns, wondering when his baby brother got a concept of controlling his sources, and it scares him a bit how wise he is when that young; _how will he believe in anything if this young he can’t believe in tales anymore?_

“Don’t you know dragons come from eggs?”, Jaime asks.

“Of course I know.”

“And how many days does an egg take to hatch?”

“Well, I don’t know that. - Tyrion mumbles – Depends on what’s inside.”

Jaime shrugs, “Maybe there are eggs and they’re just taking a long time to hatch. - he stares deep in Tyrion’s eyes – Don’t you know of Dragonmont? There are thousands of eggs there waiting.”

Tyrion then seems to get offended and glares.

“Do you think I’m dumb? I know of Dragonmont, I read about it, but no egg had opened since so long… - he crosses his arms – They had turned to stone. And Summerhall went all down in flames.”

Jaime bit the inside of his cheeks.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

He puts his hand on Tyrion’s arm and grips. He wants Tyrion to give him some faith, but Tyrion seems to just get sadder at that.

“Don’t tell fibs, then. - he says – I talked to uncle Gerion and Tygett, they told me they are all dead and books say the same. Now you tell me this just because I’m a child.”

Jaime sighs.

The maidservant moves behind them, giving a small smile, “Lordlings, why don’t you go inside the hall? There are some sweets for your arrival, lemoncakes with lemons from Dorne, even.”

Jaime nods and looks at his baby brother again, as he sucks his lips and adverts his eyes.

He must have realized he spoke harshly, and must be afraid now.

Tyrion is a funny boy to him: he always says what he thinks, he has little filter, he’s blunt and good, but terrified to indispose him or be left behind; Jaime is unsure how both things can coexist, really.

Or why he’d think he’d leave him behind… the only brother he has.

Jaime smiles to the girl, sighing dramatically, “I would so love some cakes, but I can’t tell if Tyrion will forgive me for my ignorance. And he’s the lord of the house now, isn’t he?”

Tyrion’s eyes widen, confused.

Jaime continues, speaking to the servant, but checking on his brother with the corner of his eye, “You see, I would so want to believe in dragons still being around, I may have tried to convince him to make myself feel better, but he has proven me quite wrong. - he put out his bottom lip, mimicking as sad expression – I am a guest, he’s the lord of the house, with my father away… if he doesn’t forgive me, surely I can’t hope for a…”

But Tyrion hugs him tight, “It’s forgiven, it’s forgiven!”

Jaime grins, radiant, and laughs, “Oh, but thank you!”

Tyrion takes Jaime’s hand and starts leading him to the hall, Jaime following lazily, making his stride little enough to not surpass him.

“And then I’ll show you the books I’ve read. - Tyrion laughs, ecstatic – One of them has the names of all the dragons the Targaryen ever had.”

Jaime stares at him and observes him, as Tyrion starts to list and dish out to him information in detail about a thousand topics, opening tangents and riding parenthesis, filling the air with words.

_Did he miss me that much?_ , he wonders, in awe of the child’s curiosity and need to share.

He wonders if he was like that too.

He knows he was not.

_Maybe father was_ – he finds himself thinking, oddly. His father had long since been all but talkative, and he would rather think and keep any information for himself and… _and_. But, there had been times, when him and Cersei were small, and they asked, when their father filled their minds with stories and talked about the past, and the houses, and the wars too.

Jaime had, though, taken from it more the strive for strife than anything else.

His father shared little, but once he did… once upon a time, before… _before_.

Well, it was not as if Tyrion could know that, could he?

Jaime swallows down, clenching his throat.

He chuckles, sour. He wonders if anyone would ever see that glimmer of Tywin at the bottom of his fun-loving, sweet-natured, book-drunk brother?

He hopes not.

They arrive in the hall and he sees the servants still bringing food on the table.

“Some was for the nameday but I am sure lordling Tyrion won’t mind if we have a bit beforehand.”, a man Jaime doesn’t remember says, placing fresh butter bread and honeyed figs.

“I don’t mind. - Tyrion says with a wide smile, looking at Jaime as if he’s the sun – Will you tell me about King’s Landing, yes? Did you see the dragon skulls?”

Jaime lets out a sour laugh.

“What do you care for those?”

“If I can’t have a dragon, it doesn’t mean I can’t fancy to know about them. - he reasons, too soundly for Jaime to object to immediately – I heard the King keeps them hung on the walls of the throne room.”

Jaime’s throat gives a nauseated croak. The knot in it tightens and stretches.

“That’s morbid.”, he comments, dryly.

Tyrion lowers his eyes and sucks his lips, clenching his small hands.

Jaime feels too guilty, staring at him like that. He can’t know how Aerys is. He can’t know how he had come to fear the tickling of nails, or how he had learnt at which temperature flesh turns blacked, or that a womanly scream now twists his stomach like a drenched drap.

_He should never know._

“What if I tell you of Barristan Selmy, instead?”

Tyrion swollens up his cheeks, but nods, accepting, and sits on a special chair with a step in the middle of much taller legs than the others. When he sits there, he seem the right height.

Jaime blinks, “What’s this contraption now?”

“I drew it! - Tyrion beams, saying it, slamming his hands on the table, proud – And Harwyn from the stables made it for me!”

Jaime stares.

“… you thought this thing up?”

“Would you think I’d enjoy to eat sitting on three or four pillows? - he sighs – They keep moving and woobling and it is not safe. - he complains – If I turn to say something or try to read a page while eating, I may slip.”

Jaime nods, biting the insides of his cheeks.

“I guess… that does sound true, though at times I’d enjoy to be small, unseen.”

“You say that because you’re not. - Tyrion retorts, simply – Small and unseen don’t go together that much.”

Jaime nods and, as Tyrion attacks the figs and bread, he moves closer to him and, smiling, wearing his tales voice, that is both a whisper and highfalutin, solemn and enticing, “Now, let me tell you of how Barristan Selmy slayed Maelys Blackfyre in single combat.”

Tyrion rests his elbows on the table, sucking his lips and staring, starry-eyed, as his brother speaks.

 

*

 

The sky had turned black since some hours, when finally Tyrion let him stop with tales, he had asked so many, always begging “Another one! Just one!” at every end, and Jaime was awfully unskilled in the art of refusing favours to his siblings.

The maid who nursed him most had objected it was time for some rest, and Tyrion didn’t protest, just clung onto Jaime’s arm and asked, “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

And Jaime decides he will.

Years passed since the last time he had shared a room in Casterly Rock, and, at the time, it had been with Cersei, which, of course, he has learnt with time, was not certainly as much a normal part of sibling-hood as Jaime had thought it to be at the time. It felt odd and comforting, soothing, to be near his brother.

Tyrion enters the bed and calls him close, so Jaime sits next to him, with an arm around him so he can stare at his brother talking without slipping asleep himself.

Tyrion tells him about all the animals he discovered about in his books: about unicorns and leopards, and huge fish, bigger than castles even!, with a mouth on their back that spits water. Jaime was not sure how much of that was true, but he argued back quoting of rabbits with pheasant wings and deer antlers he saw painted on banners of minor houses at tournaments; Tyrion dismisses that quickly, because rabbitheads are just too small for those big things.

“Sometimes small things are stronger than you think.”, Jaime peeps, tickling Tyrion’s belly until he laughs.

“Tomorrow I’ll show you how I tumble. - he says – I can walk on my hands and all.”

“Which use would that be for?”

Tyrion shrugs, “It’s a thing I can do better than others. - he swallows – And everyone laughs.”

_Father will hate it._

“Cersei too… - Tyrion adds, then – She laughed once. Or twice.”

Jaime’s smile twitches. He sighs, thinking of her.

Tyrion looks at him and Jaime can’t help but wonder if he knows… he’s a kid, he can’t know, he hopes he can’t. Children of seven could see a man and woman couple and not understand.

He inhales sharply, glancing at Tyrion’s small hands, as his brother gives a big yawn.

“There, there, not so open.”, Jaime puts a finger in the middle of his open mouth, gyrating it and making Tyrion blink and stare at it, contradicted. Tyrion frowns, confused, and Jaime tickles his nose with his fingers, making him laugh again.

“You’re a lion, but you yawn like a cat.”, Jaime teases, amused.

Tyrion shrugs his small shoulders again, “I’m not much of a lion, really.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I am too small.”

“There are small lions.”

“Cubs. - Tyrion points out – What about when I’m not a child anymore and still small?”

Jaime sucks his lips and stares, “We will make you special shoes, with wood inside, and you’ll seem taller.”

“That doesn’t convince me much.”

“I’ll chop off the legs of whoever calls you short, then. - he promises, with a little smile – To the knee, so they’ll kneel.”

Tyrion laughs, knowing it’s fake.

Jaime is too good to do that, he knows and thinks, holding tightly onto him.

“I could be High Septon! - he announces – Those crows they have, they add one foot to the height.”

Jaime snorts at that.

“My brother, a High Septon! - he shakes his head – Oh, sure you may, but it is not that nice of a life.”

Tyrion frowns, “Why not?”

“You’ll discover it when you become a boy. - he promises – At a certain age, it seems like a very silly idea.”

“If that were true, there wouldn’t be High Septons at all, if not children.”, Tyion objects.

Jaime clacks his tongue against his palate, “Give it time. Trust me on that.”

Tyrion nibbles at his bottom lip: he doesn’t like when grown-ups tell him to just trust them, and don’t allow him to know better nor give him any explanation; how is he supposed to discover more of this? But it’s Jaime, and Jaime is kind to him, so he’ll accept that for now.

He yawns again and clenches onto Jaime’s tunic, so tight, his knuckle’s dimples grip on him truly like the paw of a lion.

“Jaime?”  
“Yes?”

“You were at court… - he pauses, his voice trembles – Is there any lady who’s blind?”

“Not that I know of. - he thinks, running his fingers in Tyrion’s soft hair, ruffling the gold and the black ones all the same – Why?”

“Just a question.”, Tyrion lies.

“I can feel your head hot with all the gearwheels moving inside it and you want to persuade me you are just asking for no reason at all?”

Tyrion doesn’t reply, he just holds onto him tighter.

Jaime sighs, breathing in the night, and the azure filling the room and turning the Lannister red into the bruised colour of wine. It makes sense, to him, but he is unsure why.

Tyrion’s breath is slow and calm – the maester had told them once, when he’d get old, he’d struggle to breathe in his sleep, for the shape of his skull, but Jaime sees him sleep and smiles. In the night, breathing slow, Jamie finds his little brother fairer than himself, especially than how he is when he stands in the throne room, holding back the vomit pooling in his stomach, as the scent of meat reaches him.

It takes effort to move away; Tyrion seems to grow heavier and his grip stronger when he is fast asleep, and Jaime struggles until he just undoes his tunic and leaves it with him.

He tiptoes out of the room and goes to their gardens, and then to the carpentry. He finds some of the men still at work, and they glance at him funny, but they lower their heads all the same. _The power of a name, I have my chest naked and you bow? Is my sigil carved on my chest? Do you find a coat of arms under my skin?_

He groans at himself, it’s not them he’s angry at. It’s the way he’s starting to doubt the king, and his vows, and…

“Whom of you can I send to Lannisport?”

“What for, my lord?”, a man comes forward.

“I need you to buy a foal… - he pauses – A pony, better.”

The man nods, he must be old but Jaime barely remembers him. He has been gone since so little, but it seems so long – everything is extraneous, foreign.

He gives them some coins, “The healthiest you can find. - he warns – And best behaved.”

The man is about to move, when Jaime interrupts him again.

“Also, I’ll need timber, and a chisel.”

“You, my lord? But I can do whatever you need myself.”

“I would hope you could. - Jaime laughs – But I think I can manage this much by myself.”

A little wooden lion, how hard could it be?

_Let him see not all lions come in cold gold._


End file.
